


A Grief Interruption

by vyduan



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyduan/pseuds/vyduan
Summary: We always see Syd in the awesome kickass moments for her spylife. But really, a lot of it was prepwork, analysis, and internal warfare. Set sometime during her joint employment at SD-6 and the CIA.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	A Grief Interruption

**Author's Note:**

> Inspirations: "Why Sydney Has No Social Life" by Jody Lynn Nye in the book, "Alias Assumed: Sex, Lies and SD-6" ; "A Grief Observed" by CS Lewis.

Sydney stared at yet another manila folder on her desk. Why did they bother stamping "Top Secret" on everything? Didn't they work in Black Ops? Weren't _all_ their files "Top Secret"? If they wanted to keep the files truly hidden, they'd make the files look as boring as possible (which sometimes meant a person just had to read them). All that stamp did was make it more likely someone would want to read it. Unless, of course, they were looking to do the opposite. By making even the most banal file Top Secret, they were effectively doing the same thing. Hiding an important file in plain sight. Well then, why bother wasting red ink?  
  


She really had to stop reading papers on Game Theory.

Sydney spared a glance at her watch. Only 7:30 am? Inwardly, she despaired just a little. Today was going to be just like every other day - long. Meetings, more meetings, then paperwork, then martial arts training, working out, brushing up on her language skills, target practice, weapons training, more meetings (how did they expect her to get anything done?), reports, following the global political/economic situation in multiple countries, reports for her cover at Credit Dauphine (couldn't they delegate this to someone?), and finally, checking in with her CIA handler and then maybe, getting something to eat. Perhaps Francie would bring something home from her catering job and she wouldn't be stuck eating cold cereal yet again.

Even with her two paychecks, she didn't get paid enough to do this.

At least this meant she didn't have to think about Danny and how she put her life in even more danger (if possible) to avenge him and make sure Sloane paid so she could truly serve her country and justice and the American Way. Except she felt guilty for not thinking about Danny as often as she used to. Even with her eidetic memory, without him in motion and in her life, she'd eventually forget what he was like on a lazy Sunday afternoon. With time, he'd become more caricature and wistful selections in her moth-eaten memories. His person would no longer be sharp and discrete. She would not have the real man to shatter her image, reminding her that oh yes, Danny was like this after a run and smiled like that when he hummed to himself.

He deserved better.

They all deserved better. Dixon, Marshall and all her colleagues who proudly came into work every day, toiling tirelessly to stop the very Hydra they fed. How had her father managed this deception for thirty years, entrenched among the enemy? She ached to divulge the truth. But she knew how that road ended. It ended in a torn apart apartment with blood drowning the bathroom floor and her clutching an emptied body, keening. It ended in death.

Sydney balled her fists and scowled at the floor until her eyes cleared.

Sloane needed to die. She would ensure it by pulling the trigger herself. Yet, she found no solace in that knowledge. Even if she forced him to suffer a thousand deaths, could his blood resurrect the dead? He was certainly no Messiah and she no Pilate. Danny would stay cold, mouldering in the ground as she continued to live, warmth pumping through her veins. His life, in stasis, never to revive. Her life, crashing forward, never to reverse.

Sloane dying would not bring Danny back, but she would damn sure make him try.

Given the option however, would she really bring him back? What sort of person was she to think so little of Danny's affliction and more so of her own pain? Could she be that selfish? _Would_ it be selfish? She wanted him back to fill the chasm - that wide, yawning chasm - he left behind. How could she consider ripping him back to life, as if it were possible, without questioning whether it would be good for Danny? Could she, after he had already borne death, force him to live, only to have him endure dying again on a different, terrible day? What if he was in a better place and she tore him away just because she needed him here? What if he resented her forevermore because of that? But how could he hate her for wanting to be with him?

Grief should really make an appointment.

Sydney leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her brain was definitely not cooperating this morning. She didn't have time to brood. Sloane expected her to have the mission specs detailed and op tech configured for next week. Sydney exhaled with harsh deliberation. _Sloane._ It always came back to Sloane. He had sought her out, tricked her into this life, and slaughtered Danny without hesitation. Butchered him as if he were nothing but dinner. And somehow, Sloane had the audacity to demand she remain at SD-6, put on her patriotic face and give whatever she had left to him. How could he think she would swallow his manipulations so easily? Did he really think she would believe that ultimately, she was responsible for Danny's murder? Or perhaps he merely accepted that she was back because she feared death and wanted to live even if Danny could not. What if he suspected the true reason for her continued obedience? But if that were the case, she'd already be dead. She couldn't understand it.

Sloane was seriously deluded and she would exploit that flaw until she put a bullet in his brain and three more in his heart just in case.

Sydney browbeat her treacherous ruminations back into the many compartments her training had thoughtfully provided. Today was not the day for her retribution.

Soon, though. Soon.


End file.
